


Wave As I Pass By

by TheEarlyKat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, mermanders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:24:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7331164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEarlyKat/pseuds/TheEarlyKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The streets of Kirkwall are just as dangerous as the murky bay surrounding it, as Anders can well testify from the constant movement of ships and the nets they put out. He tries to keep the area safe one ghost net at a time, until one poses a much larger problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this a long time ago, but never put it up anywhere aside from tumblr. I've since deleted the blog it was posted under, and while reuploading them to a new one, I found this guy, touched up on it, and wrote a second part of it that will most likely turn into a longer piece.

Anders' hands dug into the mud, searching, cold and slippery between his fingers. The muscles at his neck strained to work the gill slits and keep the muck away from the sensitive membranes there while he splayed his fingers, both enjoying the feel and regretting the way it dirtied his nails, knowing he'd grow annoyed with it later; it stuck no matter what he did. 

There was a sharp prick against his thumb and he yanked his arm out, elbow popping in the struggle to escape the same time the substrate released him with a gurgle, and Anders shook off the worm worrying its jaws into the meat of his palm. He sucked on the wound to relieve the sting and buried his forearms in once more, thoughtful about the burrowing critters that weren't afraid to snap their pointy bits at his intrusion. It wasn't much longer until his hand caught on something just as sharp but much less aggressive, and he dug his arm out, wriggling down to his forked fin with the motion to free himself and his prize. 

A clamshell, sharp on two edges, cut into his fingers as he gripped it tight and shoved off from the bottom of the bay. It was only the slight lifting of pressure on his chest that spoke of his ascent to the surface. His search had stirred enough mud into the water to sting his eyes, but it made no significant difference whether the bottom of the bay was settled or suspended. The constant coming and going of boats churned up more of the bottom than a little bit of thrashing, and the waters were always murky, a sort of brown from sewage that made the infrequent moments he poked his head above the surface so worth the risk. Light could trickle between the particles on the sunniest of days, enough to warm his back when he drifted with the tides, but never far enough to make it easy to see. Anders twisted his hips when he felt the telltale gust of cold surface air brush down his spine like a caress. There was a brief flash of a fin and he was down again. 

The boats were busy this time of the day. There was a constant rumble of their motors while they roamed about the waters, and it made his skin itch something awful if he ventured too close. Like shrimp plucking at the vulnerable spaces between his scales, it started at the rough patch where soft skin met hard plates, and he shook himself to ease it just a bit before the source discomfort came into view. 

There was a net hanging from the side of one of the ships, as broad as it was dangerous, and the fish were finding it difficult to maneuver around it. The shadows beneath the boat hid the edges of the net, masking just how wide it stretched, and where it looked safe to escape around was just one more misleading exit. The trap was working - the weight of it already pulling the corners of it closed around the hefty haul in the center. It would fetch a good price - if Anders allowed it. The shell was sharp in his hand, and it would cut just as easily through wet twine as it did his palm. 

Anders pulled himself up along the side of the net to reach a knot in a corner keeping it tied to the boat. He clung to the net, tight, winding his tail around the rope to keep still, and wedged the shell deep in the knot. It frayed, little by little, and the scent of blood wafting down drew the attention of the larger fish. They rose to watch his efforts, not understanding but out of harm's way above the edge of the net. Anders flashed them a grin and slashed through the last of the twine, twisting fast to keep his fins from catching as the net sunk in on itself. 

The shell slashed through the second knot and Anders darted out of the way when the net broke free, fish swimming in all directions in a shower of sparkles to escape the slow tumble of its descent. It was chaos, it was confusion, and it was wonderful. Colors of all kinds flashed before him in blinks of silvers and golds. Bubbles popped against his skin and he followed their trails up to the surface to watch the boat settle in its waves with the loss of its net forcing it out of its list. The men on board shouted while he laughed, watching them pointing at their drifting revenue and he slapping the water triumphantly. There would be no losses today. 

He dipped down again and followed the edge of the boat around. The net, though released, was still an issue; It was open and floating freely, but it could still catch and ensnare. He grabbed a hold of an edge to tug it up and away from finding itself trapping some other helpless schools or tanging up in the fins of a whale. He tugged harder when it caught against something - embedded, he thought, if it was resisting the more he tugged. Something screeched in protest - he could feel the way the mud shifted in his hands and the vibrations along his skin - and he had enough time to shudder against it before the net came free and he was tumbling back, fins entangling in the net still clutched tightly in his arms. 

He twisted but the net only tightened and he wedged his fingers in the little space between his torso and the net. His back hit the mud, cold and slick, and he bucked against it for leverage. Frustration left his scowl in a stream of steady bubbles and he sat up - the only free range of motion he had with the rope twisted around his hips. He'd dropped the rock the moment the final knot was cut loose and he wasn't enthusiastic to brave the biting creatures beneath him to search for another. With reluctance, he shoved his hands into the substrate, looking with no intention to pause and feel the way it seeped around his fingers. Another angry growl voiced his findings, only smooth stones and a startled sea robin, ended in a cough when something thick and oily coated his tongue. 

It wasn't mud - mud tasted of seawater and salt and a thick, cloying but natural headiness. This was grit and metal, like licking the underside of a boat. This was...seeping from a hole in the side of the bay's embankment and turning the water a shade darker than any upwell. It was night come early; the wave of slick turned the waters black and stung his skin worse than any worm, burned his eyes more than a squid's ink, and gulping water couldn't ease the fire in his gills. There was no escape from it, not caught up in the grip of the fishing net, closing tighter as he struggled against it, and he could only bear through it while it crashed over him in waves.


	2. Chapter 2

Anders only risked further danger reaching for the surface. Any unwary fish was likely to get caught up in capture or cut by a passing ship's wake and there was little time to determine if a net trawled behind it before it swept them up. He was already ensnared, tangled in the net of his own making, and he would take his chances with another if that was to be the case. 

He struggled upwards, hands clawing madly at the water to rise towards a hidden cave system set deep in the cliff side where the high tides lapped at the rocks, and he pulled himself along the shore on shaky hands. His tail was heavy - the weight of the net and the muck sticking his fins close to his body added to by the press of air around him - making it useless and he desperately thrashed to break the surface. Fingernails scrabbled on the stone to pull him somewhere seclude before rising to claw furiously at his neck. The thick muck was there, too, clogging his gills and he swallowed hard and fast to keep air flowing.

Others joined the mad race for oxygen. Fish wriggled over one another in graceless piles to gulp at the surface and the porpoises he'd drift with on their quiet hunts and shy games jumped in a display more eye-catching that he knew they'd prefer; all in an effort to get away from the heavy, burning water. Anders wiped at his eyes to rub the sting out of them. 

It was almost beautiful, the way the muck reflected a rainbow of colors in its darkness, stretching out with seeking fingers pushed further by every wave, but Anders wasn't fooled any longer by the play of vibrancy. It was like the mud, in that way; it held more than it seemed, like the bite of a crab's claws or a pinch of a shell catching on a scale when all looked soft from the top, but this pain he couldn't understand. There was no depth to it, no place for a pinching critter to hide if it didn't force all manner of them out of its path, yet it itched and burned and made him and his gills, heavy.

He hefted himself higher out of the water and rolled onto his stomach to wriggle his way forward on his elbows towards the cave. A trickle of water left from the morning's tide filled the caves in a shallow pool, safe from the taint of the bay until the next one. Anders stretched his neck towards it and dunked his head into the water, tightening the muscles to expose his gills as much as he could and breathing deep. The water was stale, lacking all the fresh coldness he preferred, but it was clean and it eased the fire dancing beneath his skin. 

He had to go back, eventually; he could swallow air for a time, but he was not meant to breathe air like a man and the small pool would not outlast the muck. That, and he needed to find the source of the disaster. It slicked the water soon after the net was freed from its catch on the bay's floor and it was more than likely what cover kept it away from the water broke loose when he tore the net free. Now a vile poison drifted in the bay and it would do more damage than any net on its own. All those that escaped the morning's catch would end up with a worse fate, and there was none that knew how to stop it. He'd have to go back through the mess, find the embedded thing he'd uprooted to its source, and come up with a plan to plug it up again. Anders hoped whatever held it all in place was still around. 

He waited until sundown, when the tide rose to meet the small stream feeding into the cave system. He heard movement above throughout the day, noise echoing through the rock to reverberate in the cave below. There was strange talk, loud and concerned, and Anders didn't need to risk wriggling to the mouth to watch the onlookers to know they spoke of the slick. He couldn't leave while they remained, overlooking the spreading darkness. Whatever it was was as much a mystery as the being he was, and he was much more catchable than muck in water. If he was drawn up from the bay there would be no chance of stopping what he'd started.

He busied himself with cleaning his tail. The muck didn't try like mud or sand did between his scales. It remained wet, sticking all the tighter as the hours moved on. He grabbed handfuls of sand and rubbed it down his tail to shed it from his skin and worked his fingers along the softer membrane of his fins to ease them open once more, flicking them this way and that to stretch them again after being pressed close for so long. 

The dying sunlight hit the shore at an angle right enough to fill the cavern with the last of its radiance, glittering off the tide rising to meet the small stream that fed the cave. The water rushing in was still free of taint, the usual murky brown he never thought he'd miss, but he wouldn't stick around to measure how long it lasted. He stuck his head once more into the pool, rubbed his hands off in a wad of seaweed clinging desperately to a deeply fitted stone, and pushed himself through the stream to find his way back out of the cave.


	3. Chapter 3

There hadn't been much of a point in cleaning his tail he thought, scrubbing the black thickness from his hands just from dipping them in the water. Anders took a deep breath of fresh air, holding it in his cheeks before swallowing to let the oxygen rush out through his gills. It would do little to fill his need for breath but the sting prepared him for the dive back into the muck - and what a sting it was. His face reddened on contact and gills clamped shut as they passed beneath the surface. Whether he squeezed his eyes shut or not to keep some of the pain at bay, his sight was no better with the black slick coating every surface. It clung to his scales and weighed down his fins, and the algae he passed through stuck to his limbs. He peeled the fronds off him as best he was able and thrashed a clumsy way forward. 

Anders passed by fish both better and worse off than himself. Some, the thiner and more agile silver sides outmaneuvered the blooming clouds of murk, but the larger, slower flounders tangled themselves up in the sinking seaweeds in their panic, gills swollen and red where they flared, gasping; their efforts to escape only bringing them down faster. Anders longed to rip them free, but any second spent idle was a second wasted - there was more slick pouring out of the bay's floor, and it would take long enough to find the opening without searching for every desperate fish. Steeling himself, he turned away from the schools and fumbled his way towards the source, saving the rash decision to help for those in critical need. 

He wasn't surprised to see the net still in place. The twisted rope flashed and jerked in the tide, made stronger by the outpouring of black ick. The golden twine was stained the same dark color as everything around it, but the quick flashes of movement against the water drew his eye. Anders gave him arms a rest, letting him drop to his sides after clawing him through the water, and let the weight of his slicked tail carry him down to the muddy bottom. The stinging slap of muck was harder with every foot he sank. Near the surface he could feel the pulse of every outflow against his skin like a cold finger down his spine, but here, this close, it was a physical hand to his chest, pushing him and his efforts away. Anders grabbed into the rope and dragged himself down the rest of the way. He risked an inhale, quickly exhaled in a wince when it sent a fire down his throat, and threw his hands down into the sediment without caution; any snappy critters would be long gone from there. 

His fingers met only slime, whether it came from the mud or the muck, he wasn't sure, but neither was it what he intended to find, and Anders forced his hands deeper. Elbow-deep, he thrashed his tail to remain upright when he splayed his fingers, hands searching for something, anything, that felt different from the soft, squishy bottom. He set his jaw, and dug his hands deeper. 

Rope scratched against his knuckles and Anders followed the line until a sharp edge cut at his hand. Anders yanked back, hard, feeling his shoulder pull in the effort to free himself from the wet hold of the mud while mindful of the injures he could sustain with the torn object unseen. He followed it, carefully, with light touches, unsurprised at the occasional feel of the rope twisted around it. This was what caught the net, and what he'd pulled up when he'd tried to yank it free. He only needed to find a way to bend it back into shape.

His own strength was out of the question. His limbs were straining just from the effort it took to bring him back to these depths, swimming through the slick and diving deep against the current. He was heavy with it, but his weight was nothing compared to the force needed to shift metal. Any other idea required air, and he was quickly running out of it. Another breath of the murky water would damage his gills more than he was prepared to sacrifice, and he pushed off from the floor to head to the surface. Surface air would do as little to help, but it wouldn't harm - if he could make it in time. 

His throat was convulsing when he broke the surface, gills working beneath his skin in an attempt to replicate the action of breathing before he could open them again. They flared, neck tense, when cold air hit his cheeks and tossed his hair into his eyes. Anders wiped at both, working the mud and slick from his eyes and smoothing it back into his hair. His chest felt tight with the little oxygen he gasped down, but he was thankful for what he could get. There were others with even less. He allowed himself one more wheezed inhale and shut his eyes to sink down again. 

It was easier to find the net again when he was already in the area. It took less effort, less air, and, most importantly, less time. Long fingers unwound the net wrapped around the metal and he let the current take it away. What fears Anders had about it causing damage were little now that the worst was upon them all. 

Maker, take him for it, but he was going to try to fix it.

As soon as he thought of how.


	4. Chapter 4

There hadn't been much of a point in cleaning his tail he thought, scrubbing the black thickness from his hands just from dipping them in the water. Anders took a deep breath of fresh air, holding it in his cheeks before swallowing to let the oxygen rush out through his gills. It would do little to fill his need for breath but the sting prepared him for the dive back into the muck - and what a sting it was. His face reddened on contact and gills clamped shut as they passed beneath the surface. Whether he squeezed his eyes shut or not to keep some of the pain at bay, his sight was no better with the black slick coating every surface. It clung to his scales and weighed down his fins, and the algae he passed through stuck to his limbs. He peeled the fronds off him as best he was able and thrashed a clumsy way forward. 

Anders passed by fish both better and worse off than himself. Some, the thiner and more agile silver sides outmaneuvered the blooming clouds of murk, but the larger, slower flounders tangled themselves up in the sinking seaweeds in their panic, gills swollen and red where they flared, gasping; their efforts to escape only bringing them down faster. Anders longed to rip them free, but any second spent idle was a second wasted - there was more slick pouring out of the bay's floor, and it would take long enough to find the opening without searching for every desperate fish. Steeling himself, he turned away from the schools and fumbled his way towards the source, saving the rash decision to help for those in critical need. 

He wasn't surprised to see the net still in place. The twisted rope flashed and jerked in the tide, made stronger by the outpouring of black ick. The golden twine was stained the same dark color as everything around it, but the quick flashes of movement against the water drew his eye. Anders gave him arms a rest, letting him drop to his sides after clawing him through the water, and let the weight of his slicked tail carry him down to the muddy bottom. The stinging slap of muck was harder with every foot he sank. Near the surface he could feel the pulse of every outflow against his skin like a cold finger down his spine, but here, this close, it was a physical hand to his chest, pushing him and his efforts away. Anders grabbed into the rope and dragged himself down the rest of the way. He risked an inhale, quickly exhaled in a wince when it sent a fire down his throat, and threw his hands down into the sediment without caution; any snappy critters would be long gone from there. 

His fingers met only slime, whether it came from the mud or the muck, he wasn't sure, but neither was it what he intended to find, and Anders forced his hands deeper. Elbow-deep, he thrashed his tail to remain upright when he splayed his fingers, hands searching for something, anything, that felt different from the soft, squishy bottom. He set his jaw, and dug his hands deeper. 

Rope scratched against his knuckles and Anders followed the line until a sharp edge cut at his hand. Anders yanked back, hard, feeling his shoulder pull in the effort to free himself from the wet hold of the mud while mindful of the injures he could sustain with the torn object unseen. He followed it, carefully, with light touches, unsurprised at the occasional feel of the rope twisted around it. This was what caught the net, and what he'd pulled up when he'd tried to yank it free. He only needed to find a way to bend it back into shape.

His own strength was out of the question. His limbs were straining just from the effort it took to bring him back to these depths, swimming through the slick and diving deep against the current. He was heavy with it, but his weight was nothing compared to the force needed to shift metal. Any other idea required air, and he was quickly running out of it. Another breath of the murky water would damage his gills more than he was prepared to sacrifice, and he pushed off from the floor to head to the surface. Surface air would do as little to help, but it wouldn't harm - if he could make it in time. 

His throat was convulsing when he broke the surface, gills working beneath his skin in an attempt to replicate the action of breathing before he could open them again. They flared, neck tense, when cold air hit his cheeks and tossed his hair into his eyes. Anders wiped at both, working the mud and slick from his eyes and smoothing it back into his hairline. His chest felt tight with the little oxygen he gasped down, but he was thankful for what he could get. There were others with even less. He allowed himself one more wheezed inhale and shut his eyes to sink down again. 

It was easier to find the net again when he was already in the area. It took less effort, less air, and, most importantly, less time. Long fingers unwound the net wrapped around the metal and he curled it around his forearm before the current could carry it away to wreck havoc on some other shore. If he could stop the muck from spreading outside of the bay, that was.

As soon as he thought of how.

He had the net, a gaping hole roiling with poison mud, countless deaths on his hands, and the faintest touches of a vague idea. Anders unspooled the net and let it drape over the jagged edge of the metal shard and pushed of to grab another gasp of air at the surface. His blood ran cold as he descended, with the knowledge that it very well may have been his last breath. He would not return until he was finished. 

The rope had sunk deep in the mud during the time. The tide worked against it, allowing it to stick deeper and more resilient, and Anders dug around the edge of the net to get a slippery hand hold before tugging, hard. The rope had torn open the hole in the first place, and it could pull it back closed, he was sure of it. 

Anders yanked, harder, first from one corner then another, arms straining. Bubbles spilled from the gills in his neck as they flared in the strain, and he clamped them shut firmly, jaw clenching hard enough to make his teeth ache. They slipped, in their grinding, a canine catching on his lip, and the blood that welled from the cut and curled through the water in front of him was no worse than the scrapes scratching their way through the meat of his palms. Anders swore, closed his mouth when another mouthful of air left him, and concentrated on the burn in his arms rather than the fire in his throat. 

Slowly, oh so slowly, the rope began to give with slack as the shard straightened out. With great deep groans to match the merman's grunted gasps it moved, inch by inch, back into place. His arms were shaking with the effort and his gills were fluttering faintly as the instinct to breath fought with the conscious need to keep holding out. Neither would hold for much longer, not his strength and certainly not his will. Anders dropped the rope, tensed his shoulders, and rammed himself into the shard with powerful thrusts of his tail to close the hole the final distance. The wound closed with a wet, sucking sound.

The poison mud remained, drifting lazily through the water, reaching out deadly tendrils with no care for what it killed, but no more could add to its power. The net was stuck in the mud, lost to the tide's control. 

And Anders-

Anders pushed himself reluctantly from the cold of the metal he laid on to make his way to the surface. The pain in his throat was dulled by the rawness of his hands and the stiffness of his limbs. The worst of the chaos was over, and with it went the icy determination of adrenaline to power him through the panic. He drifted, exhausted and sore, and if he made it to the surface, he was unsure when everything before his eyes was turned black.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, an update!

The cold caress of water against his back turned scratchy, and the gentle push of the waves ended abruptly when the shore rose up to meet him. Sand and stones found their way into his mouth and he spit them out, working his gills to free them, as well. The muscles there fluttered, weak as a newborn fry's, and Anders dragged a hand up to wipe at his neck instead. Breathing was never easy above the surface, and it was more difficult when traces of the oily muck still clung heavily to the membranes, but there was no longer any debris making them itch. Anders let his head fall back to the sand, inhaling as deeply as he dared for a moment before opening his eyes.

The sudden light blinded him but there no was more strength left in his limbs to shield his face, and he settled with burying his head in the sand until his eyes adjusted. He was nowhere near the mudflats - that much he could decipher behind the sunspots in his vision. The beach beneath him was uneven with sand rather than soft and slick with mud. It gave way when he struggled to push himself upright, getting beneath his fingernails, painful unlike the cool annoyance of his underwater home. The great expanse of water was broken by lines of wooden poles, reaching towards the sky to hold an outreach of planks stretching out to the shallows. A series of boats were gathered around each one, bobbing in time with the cycle of the waves, idling as they waited for their next scavenging mission. 

He was closer to the opening of the bay, then. Closer to the solid dwellings of the land walkers, too. Where the hunting grounds were towards the center, where high ocean walls trapped fish and food alike on all sides, here was were such activities were planned. He'd thwarted many such slaughters, but never dared to come this far to the open ocean before. It was too dangerous with so many propellers in the water. The nets may not be dropped, here, but a sharp spinning wheel could kill a fish as well as any entanglement. 

Or poisonous muck.

He supposed there'd be no need to concern himself with the boats when a greater danger was threatening the bay. He also supposed he had no right to feel any sort of pride in himself and his deeds, when he'd been cause of it. But he'd stopped it, hadn't he?

Anders shifted and squirmed until he could roll onto his back, and glanced down at his hands. They were covered in grime - mud, sand, blood, and slick - and beneath it all was a deep red line where the metal had bit until his flesh as he'd forced it back into place. That had been the easy part, as much as his trembling muscles and wheezing breaths protested. He had yet to come up with a way to get rid of it all, entirely, not simply pushing it somewhere else, out of sight but still wrecking chaos on the oceans. Nor did he have to apologize for causing such a calamity. How would he explain this to the families that had lost so much?

The gravity of the situation weighted heavy on him, and he was already sinking deep into the sand simply by resting there. He had little choice, though. A weak slap of his tail was all he could manage before he was gasping, chasing after every hint of oxygen he could pull out of the dry air. It did little to put him back in the water, and Anders wasn't even sure he wanted to go back in. How far had the burning mud spread? If he himself had drifted out so far, it was likely the spill would, too. All the work it took just to escape it's pain would have been for nothing, then. 

Neither would it be if he couldn't find something to ease the strain of the elements. The sun was turning his skin hot and dry, the sand only adding to the discomfort of drying out, and the heaviness in his chest was not just due to the guilt raging between his ribs. It wouldn't be long, either, until at least one of the two-leggers that commanded the boats would be out to investigate what had become of the bay, and there was no telling what'd they do if they spotted him. Pushing him back into the bay, or, better yet, to somewhere cleaner, was the least likely of the thoughts that came to mind. Of those that did, desiccation and murder were high on the list, and he hadn't planed on either when he'd woken up that morning. In fact, death hadn't been on there at all. Gritting his teeth, Anders hauled himself up on his elbows, gills flaring and neck straining. If he could just wriggle himself lower down the beach to wait out the tide, he'd be carried off just as he'd been carried in. 

Anders heaved himself up, gritting his teeth as his hands sunk into the sand. Flicks of his tail did little to help, but it was all he could manage for the moment. The sunspots in his vision grew despite his desperate blinking. They swayed and morphed until they formed a pair of upright figures. Panic made short work of the attempt, and Anders collapsed. Water splashed against his cheek and he felt oxygen rush into his bloodstream fast enough to make him dizzy.

Something grabbed a hold of his arm and his vision swam as he was dragged back up the beach. The weight on his chest grew too much, and he succumbed to the darkness once more.


	6. Chapter 6

The rocking of the seas had always calmed him. The gentle push and pull as the waves rolled up the coast and the deep tides call to encourage them back to the ocean's bosom was like a heartbeat. It pulsed in a comfortable, dull roar in his ears - a constant in the ever changing life that was underwater. Anders was always wrapped in something to keep him in place, folding a kelp blanket around his torso to hold him close to the sound or snug in place by the shelter of a ship wreck, he drifted back and forth as he slept.

The current rise and dipping of his stomach was doing nothing but making him nauseous. There was nothing to keep him steady except for a hard surface under his cheek that rubbed splinters into his face with every motion, and as it shifted with the waves, he rolled to and fro with it. Tired muscles proclaimed their protests at the sudden shifts with deep pain and Anders curled in on himself to make himself smaller and centering his weight in one place, hoping to make himself heavier. A large wave crawled beneath the floor, lifting him up and up before dropping him back down, hard, and he slammed into the floor. He groaned at the impact, and another slap hit him from the other side. Water, this time. The thought came slowly, surfacing only after his gills had flared to catch what droplets found their way to the filaments. Anders felt the slow build of the drop come again and he bother braced himself for the fall and reached for the brief splash that would follow. The spikes of pain that blossomed throughout his face when he fell were worth it, he thought, as he caught another breath. 

Another thought followed, even slower, nudging its way to the front of his mind between the instinct to find the next closest air source and the natural impulse to escape the discomfort of being tossed around like the seaweeds in a storm. 

Where exactly was he now? The texture beneath him was solid and smooth unlike the uneven, coarse sand of the beach. It shifted constantly beneath him as well, but sand was never known to throw. The tides along the shore weren't ever this fierce, either, unless he'd been shoved further up the strand when the waves rolled in rather than pulled back out to deeper waters.

Except, there'd been something moving towards him before the weight of the exposed world caught up to him, and beyond the scorching sun on his back and the drying muck between his scales he'd felt something clamp tight around his arms and take a hold of him. Much like now, he thought, as the next dip of the floor never ended in another hard impact to the face. Instead, he was continued to be lifted up, half of him chilling as a blast of cold sea breeze hit his bare torso while the other half was dragged across the floor. Whatever had taken him - and wherever he was going, was at their mercy. There was little chance it thought about returning him to the bay...but the unexpected dip in water was a promising sign.

Blessedly cold water. Anders revealed in the deep breath he drew in for the first time since the hole had ripped open in the bay. He took another one, slower, just to feel the slight swirl of water cross his gills, clean and fresh. He blinked his eyes open and pressed his hands out in front of him, fingers splayed, when his vision remained dark. They hit a solid wall and he glanced up at the surface to find a small ring of the sky above, his tail hanging over him to block out the sun.

A bucket - they'd put him in a bucket.

He wriggled himself around until he was right-side up to let his scales soak, and grasped the edge of the tub to pull himself up - before quickly sinking back down again. The quick glance provided him enough information for the moment, like the great billowing sails suggested he was on a boat, and the pair of dark shapes marching towards him were his captors. Footsteps ended right before the tub and another noise took up the silence before it could follow. Words exchanged - the language of those with two legs. It was always difficult to understand when listening from the bay - they all spoke so differently - but there were words that stayed the same no matter who was coming or going. Those, he could pick up, and Anders let his head bob just above the surface to catch them. 

"It was just laying there," one of them said. Long hair was tossed about a rounded face, and one hand rose from its placement on a curved hip to slap it out of brown eyes. A girl. 

The other was taller, thicker, her mate maybe, Anders thought. Both looked angry, with the woman standing up straight despite the obvious height difference and the man's arms crossed over a broad chest. He only shook his head. "So you thought it was a good idea to take it? Like it was a lost puppy?"

"No, like a fish out of water!" The man rolled his eyes and she pouted. "Was I supposed to let the poor thing sit in the sun for who knows how long? Someone should have done something."

"Any other someone would have just pushed it back."

The woman threw her head back, exposing an impressive chest as she sighed heavily. "That would have just been another slow death, Hawke, you know that. The bay's not good for nothing anymore. Not fishing, not hunting..." She trailed off and cupped his jaw with her free hand. His jaw worked beneath her fingers as he thought through her argument.

"You still picked it up. This isn't like one of the dock cats that gets caught in the rain. At least I know how to feed them."

She shrugged. "It's got teeth. Maybe it'll like meat."

"That's not what I - Maker, 'Bela." 

The man huffed out a breath as she gave him a soft pat on the cheek, and Anders sank back under the water. Saved, not captured, was what the pair said, but that was from their side. He folded his arms and a stream of bubbles left his neck as he grumbled under his breath. They had legs and could go where they pleased while he was stuck in a tub barely tall enough to fit the entirety of his tail for as long as it took to get where they were taking him. Unless he could escape. His arms weren't cramped or as sore as they had been the first time he'd woken. A little push here, a little push there, and he could shift the tub... somewhere. He twisted, shoving his shoulders against one corner of the tub, his tail at the other, and stretched. The bucket shuttered around him and he arched his back. 

Anders hissed as he slipped and the edge of the tub caught on a scale. The splash drew a startled gasp from one of the two legged, and soon the shadow of his tail was joined by a shadow of the woman leaning over the side. He blinked up at her before baring his teeth. 

She grinned, wide, displaying her own row of whites. "Maybe we can ask it what it likes to eat. The sweet thing is awake."


	7. Chapter 7

There was no hiding in a tub. As big as it was - and it was big he supposed, for a tub that would fit a few dozen good fish for pickling at the docks or a hundred pounds of salted meat for provisions, but not a full grown merman - it was still four, rounded corners of bare wood. The sun beat down through the shallow water, making it easy to see him, and also the pair that were looking down at him with round eyes and raised brows. Both had been silent since his splashing had broken them out of their personal discussion, though the shared looks they traded and their twisting mouths, though they stayed shut, did the rest of their talking for them. Body language was universal, and there was no denying the content of their conversation this time. No one had any idea what to do with him. He certainly wasn't going to make it any easier for them to find any answers. 

Anders braced his hands on either side of the tub to support what half of him was submerged as he stuck his chest out to make himself larger. Fighting is the only other option at hand, and it was as unlikely as hiding within the minimal shade cast by the side of the tub. There wasn't enough room to thrash a good wallop of his tail, at least not without tipping himself over, and he wasn't sure just how many attempts he could make after his already adventurous morning. Every angry flare of his gills is a battle of its own as burned tissue stretched, and exhaustion made his arms tremble even as they held him upright. A headache pounded it was across his forehead and the pair was still only looking at him. As if he was nothing more than a tuna they felt bad about eating. Anders bared his teeth and the burst of bubbles that formed his hiss made the male counterpart's arm twitch towards the female. She slapped it out of the way, apparently not needing or enjoying the show of protection, only to lean ever forward over him. 

Fight or flight had always been his go-to plan. A plan C was needed, then. 

Anders flicked his tail and the sudden, sharp movement drew both pairs of eyes. Distracted, he dropped his arms in favor for reaching the rim of the tub and hauled himself upright. He swallowed, pushing what water was still in his mouth out through his gills before clapping his hands over them and spoke.

"If you're not going to stick me back into the water, you think you can find something, I don't know, bigger?"

That finally changed their expressions. The bemused lines etching out around curiously bright eyes and lips parted just enough for deep, awestruck gasps stretched to almost laughable proportions. Jaws dropped to reveal dry mouths and the confusion that lit up brown irises brightened further into shock. Anders was sure he'd laugh if he knew it wouldn't hurt so much. He'd wanted the pair to back up, give him space, and all it took were a few words out of his mouth.

"You can..." The man gestured, hand flung uselessly out to his side to emphasis his lack of words.

Anders pressed his hands tighter against his neck before his gills could flare. "Talk? Obviously. Say angry words? Definitely. Any other questions before I can get my own answer?" 

He hadn't actually expected any verbal reply - not when the only noise coming out of them now were some sort of high wheeze, like a puffer fish that had been poked one too many times. There was, however, a series of jerky head shakes, and though they worked their mouths up and down, no words fell from thick tongues, until the female managed to swallow down whatever it was that was so difficult to accept about a talking sea creature. Color returned to her face as a wide grin slowly spread across her face. The man's arm twitched out towards her, but he had a more difficult time reigning his world back in around himself to hold her back. 

"How much did you hear, sweet thing?"

He crossed his arms over the rim of the tub and rested his head on them, upper half just low enough to keep his neck at the surface, and took a breathe before encasing his gills with his hands again. "I think you defined 'stealing'?"

Her grin widened. "I like him, Hawke."

"He's not a pet!" the man finally blurted.

Anders nodded. "He's right you know - I'm a wild animal. I bite. It'll most likely get infected, raw fish diet and all."

The female's grin only widened and she crossed her arms, turning her eyes to her mate. He raised his hands at her, but it was a feeble shield against her enjoyment. No shield at all, really, Anders scoffed. "Fish! He eats fish. One question down."

Anders rolled his eyes and he blew a stream of bubbles as he let himself slip back into the water with a groan. Wasn't he in the right to have his questions answered? Where was he? Where was he going? Who was he going there with? Why was he going in the first place? What did it matter what he ate if he could be heading for his death in the first place? He crossed his arms and hissed at the sides of the tub when his elbows knocked against the sides. He contented himself with staring at his tail, still above the water and flopping over to shade his eyes from the sun.


End file.
